


The End

by FancyFree2813



Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [23]
Category: due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyFree2813/pseuds/FancyFree2813
Summary: The Author meets with all of the original DS characters and the ones she created to end the Layers Series.
Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954873
Comments: 4
Kudos: 1





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> This story, ‘The End’ started life as the end of the Layers Series. But I received several objections and re-thought the way I ended it. So I wrote another story to dig myself out of the hole I created and called it ‘Redemption’ and will follow The End immediately. Although originally it took me about 2 years to get it written.

Prologue

This work of semi-fiction is dedicated to those of you who have been following any or all of the Layers Series, and have seen fit to provide me with feedback, constructive criticism and tons of encouragement. It is also dedicated to the huge number of people who have provided me with information on everything from Québécois translations to poisons, and my erstwhile betas – Lucky, Brigit, Courser, and others too numerous to mention. But especially the ever so faithful and long suffering Jim.

I posted the first of these stories in September of '99, never dreaming that Renfield would eventually occupy many, many of my waking hours (and several of my sleeping hours, too). `A Small Matter of Respect' was intended, as the first of series often are, to stand alone. I said it then, and I'd like to repeat it now, I was amazed when I was asked to write a sequel. I did, and thus began `The Goofy Mountie Series'. Of course Renfield had other ideas, and once he had established himself as anything but `goofy', the series became the `Layers' Series.

I have struggled for several months with how to end this series. I thought about nuclear disaster, war, fire, flood, feast, famine, or just walking away and leaving it hanging. None of those seemed appropriate or fair, so I have elected to do what I used to promise I would do in the intro to every story – put the characters back the way I found them when I was done with them.

I apologize if the following seems rather self-indulgent. It is.

I call it:

The End

The woman parked her shiny new green SUV on the normally busy street, several spaces down from the corner. Even though the spaces in front of her were empty, as were the streets and sidewalks around her, she had elected to park down the block and around the corner from her ultimate destination. She told herself that she needed all the exercise she could get, but the real reason was that she could not bear to look at that building, not yet anyway.

She slowly picked up the slender black box from the passenger's seat and climbed out of the car. Even though she knew there was no one around – she'd planned it that way, after all – she absent mindedly pressed the button on her key ring and her brand new car chirped at her as the doors locked.

She adjusted the black box tightly under her arm and exhaled deeply before she resolutely struck out toward the corner. Once there, she stopped briefly. Closing her eyes and for the umpteenth time today praying for strength, she turned the corner to the right. When she was forced to open her eyes once again she deliberately avoided looking at anything on the other side of the street. She continued down the block until, still staring straight ahead, but forcing herself to see nothing, she came to a halt in front of the dry cleaners. She didn't look at the store front, but she knew exactly where she was, she could smell it. The distinct odor of chemicals and the damp heat where a dead giveaway, at least to someone who had paid her way through college working in just such a place.

She stood in front of Hansen's Cleaners for several very long moments before she gathered enough courage to turn and look across the street, and face the building that was a very big part of why she forced herself here today. But seeing the beloved brownstone, really seeing it for the first time in a very long time, took her breath away. She found herself in urgent need of a place to sit down. But she hadn't anticipated that, so there was no bench in sight. She swayed slightly, closing her eyes once again, in an effort to calm her nerves. Tightening her already painful hold on the black box, she leaned against a lamppost for support.

Finally, when she had regained some measure of composure, she slowly opened her eyes to study the building across the way. It really wasn't anything special – it really wasn't. Just three narrow stories of brick façade, with a flat roof and peeling green paint around the third floor windows. Those tall, mullioned windows, two on the first floor and three each on the second and third, did give the building a lot of character. The green, curved awnings trimmed in white cording over the ground floor windows were a nice touch, if she did say so herself. She'd never paid much attention to the front door, so it looked a little sad. The stained wood surrounding a single glass panel was in desperate need of refinishing, and even from here she could see that the brass hardware needed polishing.

But the large brass lettering across the front of the building, above the awnings, looked as shiny and new as the day it had been installed. She remembered she'd had to ask for help in coming up with the name – `Great Expectations'. How could she have possibly known exactly what those words or this place would come to mean to her, or to all the others.

She knew they were all inside the building, a great number of people she had asked to meet her here. She knew they would be concerned and she knew they had a right to be. But she just couldn't force herself to hurry. She had to gaze upon this wonderful place just a little longer. It wouldn't be long before she would never see it again.

Slowly the knowledge that she could wait no longer replaced the desire to stand and stare, and she stepped into the street. Ordinarily at this time of day the streets and sidewalks would be alive with both car and foot traffic. People scurrying to and from important appointments in important places with important people, impatient with all of the others who had the nerve to be in their way. But not today. Today it was deserted, just as she had planned, so there was no need for her to even look before she made her way across four lanes of asphalt.

When she came to the front door of the bookshop she smiled slightly. The green canvas shade was pulled down over the glass and a hand lettered sign `Closed due to Family Emergency' had been hastily taped to the glass. But she knew that the door would be unlocked. She slowly pushed on it – the knob had never worked, having been frozen in place sometime in the distant past and she'd elected to never fix it, thinking it added to the charm of the old building. She stepped out of the bright sunlight into the dim interior and gasped out loud at what she saw once inside.

She'd known they'd all be there, of course. But she was staggered by the shear numbers of them. She knew exactly how many `real' characters she had used, but she was in no way prepared for the numbers of `her people'. She'd known there were several but standing interspersed throughout the bookshelves were at least 100 people of all shapes, sizes and ages.

She found she had to look away from them, though. She just couldn't bear to look any of them in the eye just quite yet. 

She looked instead to the left of the long, narrow bookshop. There, waiting somewhat impatiently around the customer counter, she saw all the characters that were the product of someone else's talent and imagination. At that moment, her courage failed her and she found that rather than studying their faces she was instead studying the ancient brass cash register that had weighted down the already sagging counter since the very beginning. She'd seen a cash register like it somewhere, once upon a time, and thought the idea of it made the perfect addition to her bookshop creation.

Someone finally cleared his throat, and although she didn't see him do it, she was sure it was Fraser. It was just like him to attempt a tactful way to get her attention. With overwhelming regret she was finally forced to study the faces of the people she loved so much.

Lieutenant Welch, Tom Dewey and Jack Huey stood closest to the front window, but not with their backs to it. She'd heard somewhere that a cop never stood with his back to a window. Whether or not that was always true, it certainly was now. Across the side wall of the shop, behind the counter, were characters that made only occasional appearances – Francessca Vecchio, standing as close to Tom Dewey as she dared, given the fact that her brother was just a few feet away, Robert Fraser, resplendent in red serge and dead animal hat, Buck Frobisher, also in red serge, but with no hat to hide his magnificent gray hair, Mrs. Vecchio and her daughter Maria. Farther down the line were other `minor' characters, characters that she had chosen to make even more villainous than their original creators – the Bolts, Randall and Cyrus, looking as insane as ever, Laurier (who she had christened René), looking even more evil than she remembered, Danny `the Bull' Brock (who she had arbitrarily decided to make René's step-father) and Norman McGill, who was with out a doubt the most maniacal of her villains, but also the last.

At the far end of the group, standing a short distance away from the villains, was Bubba Dean, not the most prominent of characters in anyone's imagination, but still important simply because of who he was. Next to him was Armando Langoustini, looking a mere shadow of his former self, and last, but by her way of thinking definitely not least, was the very tall, very handsome character known as Earl Jeffers.

When it was no longer possible to ignore them, she turned her attention to the group standing in front of the customer counter. She almost smiled when she looked at the Rays. Typical, she thought. Vecchio was spotlessly impeccable in an olive green Armani double breasted suit, and Kowalski looked as if he was wearing the clothes he had slept in, faded, torn jeans and a T-shirt that advertised something she could not read because it was so rumbled and faded, and partially hidden by a very nice black leather jacket. Margaret Thatcher stood next to Kowalski, surreptitiously holding the hand of the man who stood on her other side – Benton Fraser. But not the red serge, Stetson hat clad irresistible Mountie, instead it was the Henley shirt, blue jeans and leather jacket clad irresistible man. And next to him, of course, was his not entirely faithful companion – not pet, never let it be said that the magnificent, and at times untrustworthy animal was subservient to any man – Diffenbaker. And finally, when she had nowhere else to look, she was forced to look at Renfield.

She first looked at his feet, then his clothes, avoiding the inevitable - looking into his eyes. She didn't imagine him in uniform very often, but that is the only way his creators ever imagined him, so there you are. Taller than anyone else in the entire room, with the possible exception of Earl Jeffers, and of course Laurier and Bubba Dean, she was once again impressed by his size. There were others in the room wearing RCMP dress uniforms, but somehow on Renfield it looked different – crisper, brighter, more imposing – as if he were in focus while the rest of the room was slightly blurred. She supposed that that was it, she'd always held a clearer picture of Renfield than any of the others.

Finally she looked at his face. Not a handsome face, at least in the classical, perfect features definition of the word, but certainly easy to look at. There was just something about his mouth, the way it curled when he was teasing or being sarcastic, that warmed your heart. And a twinkle in his eye that told anyone who cared to look that there was much, much more to the man than what was on the surface.

She looked into those lovely blue eyes now. But what she saw brought her crashing back to reality. Renfield was scared. All of the people she had been studying were scared, or at least apprehensive, and she had yet to even look at `her people'.

She suddenly realized that her left arm was almost numb from unconsciously squeezing the black box so tightly. She loosened her grip slightly, while gathering the courage to turn her attention to the huge number of people scattered throughout the rest of the bookshop.

As when she first came into the room, she was amazed by the number of people she saw. One day, not all that long ago, she had finally come up with the total number of Layers stories – 23. Granted, some of them, like the Puppy Tales Volumes, were fairly short, but then again there were some really, really long ones, like Leaving Las Vegas in 34 Pieces and Family Ties. Some she was proud of – LLV 34 and It's in the Mail were among her favorites. And there were some that she'd just as soon not admit to, like The Best Intentions and In the Light of the Silvery Moon, but the shear volume of words she had written still astonished her. But what surprised her even more was now standing in her bookshop – the total number of characters she had created. Some she had to wrack her brain to remember, like Jeanette McDonald (from her name the characters after famous people period) or the Postal Inspectors that arrested the woman who kidnapped little Maria Calvo (she'd had to reread the story to find out their names – Benjamin and Franklin. A little pun that had fallen far short of its mark). All of them, and many more were now staring at her from between the shelves of books.

As with the real characters, she started surveying the room from the back. Way back by the stairs that led to Renfield and Kerri's apartment, were Susan and Douglas West and their twin daughters. Renfield had almost lost Kerri because Susan reminded him so much of his dead wife, Melanie – who, along with 3 year old Meghan now stood next to Susan and Doug. Next to Melanie, almost fading into the background were the ghosts of Elizabeth Turnbull and Mary Howard, Renfield and Kerri's mothers, who still continued to watch over their children. Still near the back of the room, but out of sight of Mary Howard was Kerri's father Aaron and his blushing bride, who had once been his sister-in-law, Leona. Back there with them was Marjorie Elliot, the hostage negotiator who had played such an instrumental role in gaining the release of Meg, Frannie, Kerri, Paige and all the others when they had the misfortune to get caught in the middle of a bank robbery gone wrong.

Mixed in among these people were the scores of nameless medical personnel, doctors, nurses and others who tended to Renfield's numerous catastrophic illnesses and injuries over the course of four years. With them were also all the children, curiously quiet for the time being, who had spent many a Saturday morning wearing costumes and listening to Renfield read all manner of stories to them, and/or many a Saturday afternoon playing softball on the field behind the bookshop.

Jeanette McDonald was among the group of doctors. She stood out from the rest primarily because, if only briefly, she had been considered as a love interest for Ray Kowalski. Near her was another, longer lived love interest for Ray, Paige McFadden, and by her side was her daughter, Meredith.

In a clump at the far right side of the back of the room were the people from Las Vegas, the people who figured so prominently in Armando Langoustini's life – his living it and their tying to take or save it: the Elvis impersonator who performed Renfield and Kerri's marriage ceremony, and his wife Dottie McDonald, Sadie, who owned the PassionFlower Hotel brothel, and Chantal, who worked there. Close by, but not too close, were Nick, Armando's traitorous bodyguard, and Angelo and Maria Morelli, the Iguana Family's Godfather and his socially inept wife.

Next she came to Pierre Levesque, the jerk who broke Norman McGill out of prison, and was murdered for his efforts. Standing by him was Alexander Bolt, the third, and as Fraser had prayed, the last of the Bolt clan. His diabolical plan to poison Fraser had gone terribly awry and Renfield had almost died as a result. And next to him, looking totally out of place among the villains was Mitchell Hicks. Not the most notorious of the group, he did become an integral part of several of the Layers plot lines because he was the man who had rundown and killed Melanie  
and Meghan Turnbull, and fled the scene, leaving a bereft Renfield standing alone in the middle of the street in from of their church.

Realizing that she was getting depressed at the numbers of really bad guys she had created, she turned her attention back to the other side of the room.

There she saw little Maria Calvo and her friends Amber and Crystal. With them were Maria's mother and brother, Rafael, and her grandfather, who had orchestrated Maria's kidnapping. Nearby, but not too close, were Linda Ellis and George Ramirez, Maria's kidnapers, and right by their side, close, very, very close were the Postal Inspectors who had carted them away, Inspectors Benjamin and Franklin.

Reluctantly working her way toward the front of the room, she came to the characters that had figured the most prominently in the Layers saga. She first came to Sheila LaRue. Completely recovered from Norman McGill's beating, she gazed longingly at Ray Vecchio, possibly because he was one of the few people in that room that she knew, but most likely because she loved him very deeply, and had loved him ever since her undercover FBI assignment as Armando Langoustini's main squeeze. Near her, watching over her just as they had during her recovery in Minnesota were Bobby Malone, the sheriff of Mower County his competent, caring wife Aileen, and the alien abductee who'd saved Sheila's live, Jimmie Vickers. Also there, wearing the detested `brown uniform' was Scott Foster, Sheila's undercover RCMP contact who'd ended up working in Detroit while Sheila worked in Quebec.

Next she came to Lance Gregory. She'd had great plans for Lance, but somehow they just never seemed to materialize. She'd thought once upon a time about trying to get him together with Ray Kowalski but learned very quickly that she definitely did not have a talent for writing slash. Finally, regrettably, she'd killed him off. But he was here today, looking none the worse for the gunshot that had ended his life. Surrounding Lance were all the neighbors of Great Expectations, Debbie (who'd named the bookshop) and Pietro Desmone and Mr. and Mrs. Hansen, who owned the dry cleaners, among others.

Even though she considered her a villain, Marie Laurier Brock did not stand with the villains, but almost at the front of the group. Always a pushy broad, Renfield's birth mother looked just as garish as she had originally been written, and just as formidable. In front of her, just out of reach, was Richard.

Richard Turnbull was probably one of her most beloved characters, he was Renfield's father, after all. But just as with Lance, the opportunity to develop him more fully never seemed to present itself. He was most often just the voice of reason when Renfield had done or was considering doing something totally stupid.

Finally she came to the person standing immediately in front of her. But before she acknowledged her, she looked at Dickens. As Renfield's canine alter ego, Dickens was as always, completely clueless, although he did look at her with slight apprehension in his big brown eyes.

Lastly, there was Kerri. Kerri looked at her with anger flashing in her eyes, perhaps because she was the only one who knew exactly what was going to happen, and what the future held for her and the child she cradled in her arms – Mary Elizabeth, Lizard Breath to Ray Kowalski, Turnbull.

She stared at Kerri for a very long time, trying to say with her eyes what she was avoiding speaking aloud. She was so sorry to be doing this, especially at this point in their lives, when they had just adopted the long sought after baby, but there was no helping it, and now that the decision was made, no turning back.

Finally, as the silence became deafening, Renfield spoke up. "I…that is to say…" he stammered, "we have been waiting, well, you see…"

"Why're we here?" Kowalski got to the point.

She turned to address both groups at once. Clearing her throat, that had gone suddenly very dry, she uttered her first words since long before she'd parked her car.

"As most of you know interest in `Layers' has been declining over the last several months. It seems that we, you and I, have run out of interesting things to say and do. It's no one's fault, but I think," she swallowed, trying to choke out the words, as a single tear ran down her cheek. "I think that Layers has run its course."

"Exactly what does that mean?" Benton asked, as he tightened his grip on Meg's hand, indication that he knew full well what she meant.

"It means," she paused as she looked out over the crowded room. "It means that I…" she hesitated, "…that I have to put an end to this. I am going to do what I promised I would do from the beginning. I…I am going to put all of you back where I found you," she gestured toward all of the `real' characters.

"That's okay for them," Marie Brock demanded, pointing at the `real' characters, "but what the hell are you going to do with us?"

"Yeah!" was muttered through the crowd scattered throughout the bookshelves.

"What will you do about us?" Kerri whispered, the fear evident in her voice.

"There's not much I can do," she tried to explain.

"You mean that you're just going to kill us all off?" Richard Turnbull asked, drawing Kerri and his granddaughter into a protective embrace.

"NO! I am not going to kill you! You will stay alive, any time someone reads one of the stories, you will come to life all over again!"

"But I'll never get to see Bethy grow up! She'll be a baby forever!" Kerri cried. "You just can't do this!"

"I have to," she protested. "I can't put so much of my self or my time into stories that very few people read. I know that's selfish. I'm sorry about that," she muttered.

"That's not fair! You should write for the shear joy of putting the words on paper! Don't give a damn what other people think!" Tom Dewey yelled, just realizing that the end of Layers also meant the end of his budding romance with Francessca.

"I wish I could, I've always wished I didn't care so much about what other people think." Her tears were flowing freely now. "I've tried to change that about myself, I really have. But I can't. I just can't." 

"And so we get screwed!" Marie yelled at her.

"What will happen to the, uh, relationships that we, uh, have established?" Benton asked for all the real characters.

She smiled at him. "You don't need to worry, Ben. As long as there are televisions and DVD players there will always be plenty of others to write about your relationships. I was never very good at that any way."

"So, your mind is made up? We aren't allowed any input?" Richard asked.

"Yes, my mind is made up. The reason I called you all together is because I thought I owed you an explanation, and some finality. And to say goodbye," she muttered

Lance finally spoke up. "I suppose, since I'm actually dead, my opinion doesn't count for much. It certainly didn't before you killed me off. That really hurt, by the way, getting shot like that. You might want to remember that for future reference," he said sarcastically. "Anyway, I think you are ending all of this at the perfect time. Renfield and Kerri are happy, for a change. Beth is safe and loved. Ray Vecchio has a solid love interest, Ray Kowalski is alone, but happy, and Benton and Margaret have a tenuous, but steady relationship. Yep, except for the part about my being dead, I think you've done pretty well."

"Lance! I want to see Bethy grow up. I want to enjoy my marriage and my work. I want to continue living!" Kerri glared at the woman who was so cavalierly deciding her fate.

"As I said," she said wearily, "you will all continue to live in the pages of the stories I have already written." That sounded trite, even to her.

"How is anyone ever going to read any of our latest exploits? You haven't posted them to a permanent archive for a long, long time." Benton always was the voice of reason.

"I know," she sighed, ashamed of herself for her lack of follow-through. "I promise I will post the missing stories very soon."

Finally Renfield gathered the courage to speak up again. He knew that if anyone could talk her out of this he would be the one to do it.

"I really wish you would reconsider," he pleaded. "I like the way my character has been developed. I'm very happy with what I have become – it suits me," he smiled shyly, knowing full well how that look always melted her heart. "Please don't make me go back to that…that bumbling oaf."

She hadn't considered how much Renfield's pleading would upset her. But it did. She was staggered by the passion in his voice. Renfield could tell that perhaps he had played the pity card just a little too harshly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, genuinely embarrassed at trying to shame her into changing her mind. "We all know that you haven't been well recently and that's why you've been ignoring us so much. I shouldn't have tried to trade on that."

She had hoped that they might not have noticed that she hadn't been telling much of their story lately, but of course she was wrong. "I'm sorry too, Renfield. I wish things could be different, but we all knew it would have to end someday. We've had a pretty good run you and me," she motioned toward the entire room. "Thank you for giving me so many…" Suddenly she could not go on. "I'm sorry…I just can't do this any more!" She covered her eyes with her free hand and turned and hurried for the door.

"Wait!" Renfield called to her. He rushed to grab her hand off the door knob. "Please," he implored, gently taking her hand into both of his much larger ones. "I understand," he whispered. "I really do understand. If you have to do this, here is a fine place to leave all of us. Just as Lance said, all the villains have been dealt with, the Richelieu Family isn't after me any more, we have Beth. We will be just fine…" Not known for his eloquence, even in the Layers universe, he was doing a pretty good job of warming her heart. "I just didn't want to miss my opportunity to thank you."

"To thank me?"

"For making so much more out of me than I could have ever been without you. For taking me places I could have only dreamed about." He grinned and blushed, "and for making me such a…a sexual being…and for Kerri." He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

"I'll miss you the most," she whispered, then she laughed. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I may not be the same person you've already written about, but I know you'll continue to write about me. I think I've invaded your soul."

"Well, my heart, at the very least. Goodbye, Renfield."

He kissed her hand again before he said, "Goodbye."

She was out of the bookshop and across the street before she realized she was moving. Collapsing on to a bench she had conjured into the scene, she buried her face in her hands and cried.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she pulled herself together. The black box, still tucked tightly under her arm, suddenly demanded her complete attention. It took a minute or two for the feeling to return to her left hand, but eventually she was able to adjust the box on her lap using both hands.

She opened the lid and slid the power switch to the right and waited for the screen to come to life. Carefully avoiding looking at anything but the words flashing across the screen, she waited for the laptop to boot up. When the desktop finally appeared, she hesitated. Absentmindedly, she ran her Mountie cursor around and around, becoming slight mesmerized by the movement.

It wasn't long before she knew the time had come. Pointing the cursor at the little picture of a file folder labeled `Layers Working' she right clicked. Not pausing to think about it, she ran the cursor down until the word she wanted was highlighted with a bold blue line. Acting quickly she clicked on `delete'. When the pop up reminder `are you sure you want to delete `Layers Working?' appeared she quickly clicked on `yes' before she could talk herself out of it.

She forced herself to watch the tiny pages flying across the screen into the trash bin, counting each and every one of them just before they disappeared. When the deletion was finally completed she calmly clicked start and then shut down, her eyes glued to every change the computer screen made.

Only after the screen turned black did she close the lid and look up.

Great Expectations was gone. In its place was a trash strewn vacant lot that extended passed the alley to include what once had been Renfield's pride and joy, the makeshift baseball field. Trash, derelict vehicles and weeds would indicate to anyone who happened by that the lot had always been vacant, or at least neglected for many, many years.

Wandering aimlessly, with no idea where they were or why they were there, were a large group of people who owed their continuing existence to the fact that they had sprung from the imagination of someone other than the creator of Layers. Each of them picked their way around the lot, trying to make sense of what was happening and appearing disoriented, as if they had just awakened from a faintly remembered dream.

Fraser was the first to come to his senses. He motioned to the Rays, and together they silently picked their way to the sidewalk and headed off. She smiled as she watched them walk away, suddenly aware that she didn't know which direction they were heading. Due south, she assumed.

The rest of the Chicago police officers were the next to pull themselves together. They, along with the rest of the Vecchio family, followed Fraser and the Rays, seemingly not knowing where else to go.

The villains, Laurier, Brock, McGill, the Bolts and the others headed off in the exact opposite direction, and Inspector Thatcher took off after them, not yet totally aware that her cop instincts were all ready kicking into gear.

Finally Constable Turnbull was left alone on the lot. Still befuddled, he wandered around with no purpose or destination, tripping over discarded trash and his own feet, until he apparently spotted something he found interesting. She watched from her bench across the street as he bent and picked up something out of a pile of rubble.

When he tossed it absentmindedly in the air, she realized it was a torn, useless baseball that someone had carelessly discarded on the lot. She watched him tossing and then catching the ball for several seconds. He studied the ball as he watched it rise in the air and then fall into his bare hand, as if held some hidden meaning.

She continued to watch him, wondering if he was remembering something that the ball represented, until he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and let the ball fall to the ground.

She was at once relieved yet saddened that Renfield indeed did not remember what the baseball represented…or the vacant lot…or any of it.

So it was really over. She smiled as she watched Renfield trip his way to the sidewalk and continue off in the same vague direction that Inspector Thatcher had taken.

"Good bye, Renfield," she whispered. "You've meant a great deal to me. I hope that you've completely forgotten Kerri –"

"Not if I have anything to say about it!"

She was so startled that she jumped straight up off the bench, almost sending her trusty laptop crashing to the sidewalk.

"Kerri!" she shouted. "How…what…but," she sputtered, gesturing wildly, first at Kerri and then at the vacant lot across the street. "You…"

Kerri laughed. "I guess you're surprised to see me! I'm sorry I startled you."

"But I deleted – "

"You really didn't think you could kill me off that easily, did you?" Kerri smiled at her indulgently.

"I didn't kill you!" she said as she stomped her foot.

"Whatever you call it, there's no way I was going to let you eliminate me from Renfield's life!"

"But I deleted everyone I created. I can certainly delete-"

Kerri wagged her finger and tsk, tsked the other woman. "Obviously, you couldn't, or I wouldn't be here." She watched the face of the older woman, incredulity written all over it. "Look, you've said it yourself – more than once. Sometimes your characters have a mind of their own. You couldn't write me out of Layers once I met Renny – oh, and don't tell me you didn't try! And you couldn't match me up with either Benton or Ray, and I know you tried that too. Why do you think that is?" She could tell that no answer was forthcoming so she ventured her own. "Because I wouldn't let you, that's why. I wanted Renny, only Renny and no one else! I think the reason you couldn't kill – okay, okay – delete me, is because I have become more than just your creation, I developed a mind of my own. A lot of people liked Renfield and me together. So maybe that's the way fate intended it."

"But Renfield has gone back to the way he was originally. He's not the character I created anymore!"

"How do you know that!" she demanded indignantly. "Don't you remember way back in the beginning, lots of people thought that you were channeling Renny? They even called you `Saint' because what you wrote was so plausible. Maybe what you've written isn't just plausible, it's true! Maybe he is the son of a baker from Vancouver who lost his family in a hit and run accident. Maybe he does love children and taught art and Canadian history to school kids here in Chicago. I hope to God he doesn't have a twin brother named Laurier, but maybe everything else is true."

"Even if it is, and I'm not at all sure about that, he's forgotten you. I'm sorry, Kerri, but even if he were the person I've written about, he won't remember you."

Kerri smiled at her the way she had often smiled at Dickens, the `I know you don't understand, but trust me, I know what I'm doing' smile. "He might not remember me at the moment, but he loved me once. I'm positive I can make him love me again."

"But I'm not writing about it any more!" she argued.

"You don't really think that the only life we have is the one you write about, do you? You think you can just leave me in that bookshop with the world's sexiest man and I won't be helping myself, even when you're not writing it? I can think of a whole lot more to do with Renny than you ever did! You don't really write sex scenes all that well, you know," she said, immediately regretting her words.

"I'm sorry" she muttered.

"So am I. I shouldn't have criticized your writing, you did create me, after all. And you did give us a pretty darn good sex life, especially for an old married couple," she giggled, then sighed. "I just want another chance with Renny. I can't let the man I love get away, not at any cost."

"But what if he's really more like René than Renny? What if all of his bumbling really is just an act, but he's evil, not the sweet caring person I imagined?" she sighed. "This discussion is becoming entirely too metaphysical. It's giving me a headache," she muttered.

Kerri became indignant. "That's just not possible! I know him, and he's NOT evil," she cried. "I love him and he WILL be that same person. He will!"

"There are an awful lot of writers who think he's gay…"

Kerri looked at her incredulously, while putting her hand on her hip. "Honey, I've been sleeping with that man since way before you made it legal – and if there's one thing I'm sure about – he ain't gay!" She blushed and then giggled again. "Anything but, I'd say!"

"Obviously I agree with you, but I don't want you to be hurt if he turns out not to be the Renfield we both loved."

"LOVE! We both love!" Now it was Kerri's turn to stomp her foot.

"Okay! Okay! I can't stop you. I've done everything I can. Just know that you're entirely on you own with this. Only the `real' characters remain, and they won't remember you, so you're going to have to do this completely alone."

"Goodbye," she called as she struck off down the street. "I know Renny better than anyone alive or deleted. I can predict his moods and his actions. I can all but read his mind. I'll be fine alone!"

"Kerri!" she cried.

"What!"

The woman pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. "He went that way."

"Oops," Kerri giggled as she rushed past her. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Kerri," she called. "Good luck!" She watched as Kerri sprinted down the street. "You're going to need it."

The End of Layers (or so I thought)

Pease read Redemption to see how I got myself out of the hole I dug for myself.


End file.
